


A Beautiful Creature

by Tacosanddaryldixon



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Hair Pulling, Light Spanking, Reader Insert, additional tags to follow, idk what this is but get ready for more, lots of internal thought Bc I wrote this at 4am, there is smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:04:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27150118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tacosanddaryldixon/pseuds/Tacosanddaryldixon
Summary: Michael/reader. Good old fashioned PWP.
Relationships: Michael Gray/Reader, Michael Gray/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	A Beautiful Creature

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiii friends! I’m new to the Peaky Blinders fandom and I have SO MUCH MUSE. So I’m starting with a few prompts left for me on Tumblr. You can see the drabbles there as well.

**“My oh my, you’re such a beautiful creature”**

The sound of his voice against your skin has you letting out a soft hum, your head tilting slightly to allow his lips to travel from your shoulder up to the column of your neck. It’s beautiful, how he adores you. You can feel it pouring out of him right now, like he can barely contain it. It’s always like that when he’s high on something, drugs or bloodlust. It’s always like this, consuming, when he’s seen something he doesn’t want to see. He chases safety in any way he can, the drink, the powder, between your thighs. But you don’t care. You love him, you love the man that is currently holding your wrists hostage at your side as you look into the full length mirror in front of you, trying desperately to finish getting dressed for the party you’re both supposed to be at. 

You try to pull your wrists away but Michael holds them tighter, making the tennis bracelet he gave you for your birthday a few weeks ago imbed into your skin. It hurts a little, but you like when it hurts, so this is fine. He’s not too far gone yet, and you have all evening to bring him back from the brink. 

Earlier, he came home with blood spatter on his usually pristine white collar, specs of blood on his hands that smeared across his cheek when he rubbed his face in agony. You knew what he did, it was hard not to when you were engaged to Michael Gray, heir apparent to the Shelby empire. Legal, mostly. But still the Peaky Blinders, still men who cut with razor blades and shot with revolvers. Men that destroyed lives to keep their family safe, to move their family up in the world. You’d been naive at first, but after being around for the better part of three years now, you’re just as deep. Like most of the women in the Shelby clan, you’re kept mostly from the business, but you have an understanding with your fiancé. He comes home in one piece, and you don’t ask questions unless you need to know the answer to them. You didn’t ask this time. You don’t think you want to be dragged down tonight. So you let him bathe in peace, and you start to get ready as you wait for him. 

Now, the party is in an hour, and he’s still standing in his boxers, looking at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like you’re going to slip through his fingers. Like whatever went down while he was away has bothered him enough to reevaluate a lot of things. You hate that look. It scares you to no end. You’re always afraid that one day it’s going to be the look that leads to his downfall, at his own hands or someone else’s. You pray you can save him, that someone can, before he’s wasting away like Tommy. Sometimes his eyes get the same haunted look at his cousin’s, and it crushes your entire being. 

You have to bring him back to reality. It’s what a good woman does for her man. 

When he lets go of your wrists, you turn in his arms and kiss him softly, your hands lifting to cup his cheeks. “Come back to me, tonight is a celebration my love, don’t forget,” you tell him, watching his eyes drop to your lips again. His next kiss is bruising, like he’s trying to feel anything and everything through you. He backs you up into the mirror, a soft laugh escaping your lips as his own descends back down your throat to nip softly at your collarbone. 

“Fuck the party,” he grumbles, voice rough from not speaking since he got home. “Let me touch you. I only wanna celebrate with you.” 

Except, it’s your engagement party you’d be missing out on, and you’re definitely going to be late. Not that anyone would care, you’re the guests of honor but your families will start the festivities without you. The lushes. 

Except… He’s looking at you like he’s coming apart again, and so you nod just once and he’s on you like he needs you to breathe, yanking up the dress you’d bought specifically tonight to hitch your thigh around his hip. “You look good enough to eat,” he nearly growls, lifting you to carry you to the bed. Fuck. Why does this party have to happen? You love when he gets in this mood, where the only cure for his melancholy mood is to situate himself between your thighs. 

“Then devour me,” you whisper in his ear, nipping at his earlobe before he unceremoniously drops you onto the mattress. You let out a laugh, your hair fanning out around you as you watch him strip from his boxers. Your own hands start to pull your dress up, but he catches them and pins them above your head on the mattress. “Leave it on. I want to think about fucking you in this when we’re sharing cocktails with the fucking wankers we invited to this.” He means the business connections, the people that aren’t family and friends that are invited to this for appearances and name only. You let out a soft moan. If only those assholes knew what the man in front of you did to you behind closed doors. They wouldn’t show up to the wedding, that’s for sure. 

He grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach, then lifts your hips so he can drag your panties down, letting them catch at the crook of your knees to keep you in place. “Behave, we only have so much time love,” he tells you, as if you haven’t reminded him of your potential tardiness several times already.

You huff, but he ignores it, instead pushing your dress up to press kisses to your lower back. After a few, he slides his fingers through your folds, no warning, just checking to see if you’re aching for him as much as he’s aching for you. You are, you always are. He adds a second finger with a soft hum, his teeth catching on the flesh of your ass as he quickens his fingers and you moan. 

“Stop teasing and fuck me, Michael,” you whine, needy. There’s no time for the games, a quickie will have to satisfy the both of you until you can return later. Deciding to give into you, he stands and admires how you look in the soft light of the bedroom lamps. Your hair is flowing around your shoulders, the emerald colored dress you’ve picked out for tonight is rucked up to your stomach, your pale pink lace panties holding your thighs together. You wiggle your ass to entice him, and it ends with him slapping his palm against your flesh, making you yelp. 

“My oh my, you’re such a beautiful creature,” you hear him breathe as he guides his length inside you, a satisfied moan escaping both of you. He doesn’t give you a moment, instead setting a bruising pace as he reaches up to tangle his fingers in your hair. “Missed this, missed you,” he admits, the trip he’s been on the last two days making you both crave this. 

“I m-missed you too, love,” you breathe, nearly unable to string sentences together properly when he’s pounding all of his frustration into you. His hand once again slaps your ass, and you know your cheeks will be red and sitting down later will be interesting, but right now you don’t care. Your man is torturing you in the sweetest way, sending you closer and closer to the edge as he whispers filthy and loving words into your ear. Your vision goes a little blurry when he wraps your hair around his hand and yanks you up to hold you against his chest, his free hand holding your stomach. 

All you can hear is the sounds of skin meeting skin, and the whines and whimpers that are spilling from both of you- mostly you- and it’s such a harmonious sound. You can’t get enough, you think. You can’t believe you get this man forever. Or as long as the universe allowed, but you wouldn’t think about that. 

He lets go of your hair and drops that hand to rub over your bundle of nerves, sending you spiraling until you’re crashing, thighs shaking and body clenching around him until he’s following you with a grunt of your name against your shoulder. His hips stutter, and then he’s letting you down gently, pressing kisses to your shoulder. Both of you take a few minutes to just relax against the sheets, his front still pressed to your back, him still inside of you. It’s enjoyable, but you have to be the voice of reason. You give him a few minutes, his fingers stroking over your sides as he’s lost in his head again. 

“Michael, we have to get ready love,” you breathe, and he’s acknowledging you, pulling himself off of you slowly. 

Stupid fucking party, you wish you could cancel it.

Thirty minutes later, Michael helps you up the steps of Arrow House, which Tommy has graciously donated to be the location of the party tonight. Probably because he’s got a gun stashed in every room, ready for the invisible danger that’s always lurking around the corner. His eyes are clear and bright, finally, the mood dissipating after your lovemaking. The doors swing open, and in you go, starting the next chapter of your life with the man of your dreams next to you, the feeling of his handprint still hot on your skin. 

The whoops and hollers you get from Arthur and John means they know exactly why you’re late, and you feel your cheeks color a deeper shade of red than the rouge you’re wearing. Polly appears out of nowhere, handing you a glass of champagne. “At least you had the decency to fix your lipstick,” she says, a teasing tone in her voice. Michael chuckles guiltily next to you, squeezing your hip. “Come on, you two have mingling to do. Lots of people waiting to give their congratulations.” 

Turning on the charm, the two of you face the room. It’s going to be a long evening of schmoozing with the toffs, but with him next to you, and a promise of what’s to come when you get home, you know you can do it. You can do anything. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at tacosanddaryldixon on tumblr to send your own prompts. Sending lots of love!


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